


Arusian Blue

by Corinne K (Corinne_K)



Series: Voltron post canon [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Culture (Voltron), Artist Curtis, Chance Meetings, Councillor Shiro, Divorce aftermath, Falling In Love, Fix the fix it, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Canon, Protective Voltron Paladins, Space Dad Shiro (Voltron), Space Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-10-21 02:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20685734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corinne_K/pseuds/Corinne%20K
Summary: Shiro, now a member of the Intergalactic Consultative Council, travels to Arus for a diplomatic summit. In the planet where it all began, a chance encounter makes him rethink the course of his life in the past years.





	1. Chapter 1

For as long as Shiro can recall, there has never been a bad weather day on Arus.

As his ship enters the atmosphere, the blue sky reminds him of that very first time, when Blue dropped him and the other paladins here, to start the adventure of a lifetime.

Blue, blue... he’s always been fond of the colour blue. For ten years now, though, it also evokes something sorrowful that he can’t properly name.

They land on the new Space Port near Lions Harbor. Standing guard over the plains is the naked elevation of Castle Hill. After peace was restored to the former Galra Empire, Arusians soon realised the touristic potential of their planet. Besides the natural beauty and the historical value of the archeological sites, Arusians are naturally welcoming, which makes them the perfect hosts. Thus, in the past decade, it has been turned into a developed, clean, safe and friendly environment for people of all races, with facilities that strangely adapt to both the small stature of the natives and the more spacious alien visitors.Hotel rooms, for instance, come in different sizes and with different sets of amenities. Streets are wide and signs are displayed at different heights. Culinary offer is one of the best too. Hunk has an outlet here, serving his signature space fusion with a focus on water species. The sushi part of the menu contains an item called Shiro-maki - which is as silly as a name can be, but always makes him smile.

He is here as a member of the Intergalactic Consultative Council, a post he accepted after the Atlas was decommissioned and he spent his midlife crisis roaming the universe for a while. Kolivan is also a member, as is Coran. He is happy he will get to catch up with both.

The Earth delegation is led to their accommodations and handed the final rundown of the event - a diplomatic summit on inter-planetary extradition treaties.

He has obviously prepared for the meetings, so it’s not that he strictly needs the time, but he still decides to opt out of the delegation’s afternoon and dinner outing. He still likes to fly his ship even though he could have another pilot do the job, but at nearly 40, his stamina has slightly dropped and he’s usually tired after a trip. So he goes up to his room, strips and takes a bath. When he’s refreshed and rested, he puts on casual clothes and heads out by himself.

The area around the harbour has flourished into a vibrant downtown. It’s late afternoon but still too early for evening crowds, so the streets are fairly calm. Since he’s skipping dinner he might as well have a snack before heading back to the hotel, he thinks, and so he starts looking for something appealing.

He’s distracted by a few shops in the process. He buys something for Matt’s kids, for his cousins in Japan, and for Iverson’s wife. His late commander’s family was an unlikely safe haven in the turbulent years of his retirement, divorce and return to active life.

After a while, though, his stomach reminds him of his primary goal and he starts to actively look for a place to eat. It would be a waste to stay inside on such a lovely day, so he ends up choosing a kind of beach bar, perched on stilts over the gentle waves, just off from the main harbour front.

The waiter leads him to an outdoor terrace facing the sea. There are lanterns overhead, adding warmth to the wooden deck, and the tables are clad in pretty wave and nautical patterns. It's really nice... too nice to be here alone - but he’d pretty much lost hope on that department.

Being married now seems like something from another life. It's been a while since he realised that, for the short time that it lasted, he was truly happy. And then he threw it away.He can’t make sense of what made him so sure that Curtis was not the one.To some extent it was probably external pressure - not direct, but latent - an expectation to remain who he’d been - the captain, the paladin, the hero...Then, there had been all the the luggage he’d carried through life - Adam, who’d always appear in the back of his mind, at times as a comparison, at times as a cautionary tale, but also his battle scars, his instability and sense of incompleteness. As daylight starts to fade, he mourns those days and what his life could have been.

As he finally browses the menu, the big round moon of Arus makes its translucent imprint on the sky. He orders a local sparkling wine and a small pie filled with purple berries and seafood.

The wine comes first. It’s sweet and tangy, kind of like a mix of prossecco and kombucha. Shiro sips while watching the Arusian sun retreat slowly into the waters.

He is roused by the voice of one server passing by. The half-Arusian is barely the stature of a human teenager, but her voice is clear and high.

“What with all these people today? Is there a party for giants?”

He lifts his eyes, suddenly curious. On the other end of the terrace sits the only other patron, recently arrived, still settling in his seat - tall, lean and dark-skinned, eyes covered by mirrored wayfarers. Human, earthling - Shiro’s brain screams.His breath hitches. Can it be?

The man strips off his jacket and takes off his glasses. He is now facing the waterfront and Shiro can’t discern his facial features. He pulls a small note book from his jacket pocket and starts to scribble. He is left handed, and that simple fact rings alarm bells all over, but Shiro still refuses to believe.

The food arrives. He nibbles at the pie and tries to keep his cool, but he can’t take his eyes off the man.

He last saw Curtis some months after their divorce, in a Garrison function. It had been cold and impersonal. It felt as though things were truly over. Weeks later, his ex-husband would quit his job and all but disappear.

Arusian sunsets are beautiful - sky bleeding with colours and all kinds of exotic birds making their flybys over the quiet waters.

The man has been writing and sipping on something bubbly for a while - maybe the same Arusian wine that Shiro ordered - when a sort of purple-magenta seagull lands on his table. It’s a large creature, but the man isn’t fazed.

“Hey there, buddy, fancy some seeds?”

And there it is - the last straw. His ex-husband has always been the ultimate animal lover. They used to joke that if they didn’t get together Curtis would have ended up with at least ten cats for a family. And there he is, long fingers feeding seeds into the bird’s long beak. Shiro doesn’t think. A pang of guilt and outright pain makes him stand up and walk over to the other table. The man looks up. Their eyes meet. Recognition dawns in the handsome, stunned face.

“Curtis...”

“Shiro?”

He didn’t come with a plan and he has no idea how to wing it. His ex-husband sits right there, an arm’s length away, hand still cupped to hold the seeds, a large bird still pecking at his palm.

“I-I thought it might be you,” he stutters.

“I didn’t see you when I came in,” Curtis replies.

And so they stand in silence for a tick, then another. The waiter arrives with some stir-fried mix and places it on the table, giving them a look. The bird flies away startled and snaps Shiro out of his stupor.

“Sorry! Please have your meal. I won’t bother you.”

Curtis doesn’t say a thing. Shiro walks back to his seat. There’s a lump in his throat. He can’t process what just happened. He can only see blue, blue, blue. He picks at his pie and gazes at the deepening darkness. He steals a glance at Curtis. He’s still sitting in the same spot, eating, never looking back.

Then, suddenly, a table rattles with the sound of plates and cutlery. Twin fists hit the wood, the chair shoots back, barely escaping a flip, and the man stands, taking a deep breath, steeling his resolve. In a few steps, he’s right there by his table, barely a respectful step away.

“I haven’t seen you in years. Would you sit with me for just a little while?”

He looks up at the man, at the unique shapes, colours and textures that make up Curtis, and realises how little he’s changed, besides very slight signs of ageing. Ten years have gone by since their divorce. There’s no point in keeping bad blood between them, and the man is offering an olive branch. It would be silly not to take it.

“Ok. Thanks for inviting.”

He picks up his plate and glass and brings them over. He settles on the chair across from his companion.

“Here for the big summit?” Curtis asks, trying to be casual, but voice still strained.

“Yeah. Just got here a few hours back. Coran is here too.”

“Is he? Oh, of course, he’s also a Councillor. By the way, congrats on the job. I hear you’ve been doing really well.”

“Oh? You did?”

Curtis chuckles. “I haven’t been to Earth for a while, but I still keep in touch.”

“Where have you been then, if not on Earth?”

“You know,” he makes a vague gesture, a bit bashful, “here and there, going around...”

Shiro lowers his eyes. The person in front of him looks the same, but feels so much different from the quiet, regimentedmilitary officer he once was.

“I was a bit worried about you when you quit the Garrison. I’m glad to know you’re ok.”

“Thank you. Sorry to make you worry.”

“So what are you doing here?”

He was probably expecting the question, because he instantly perks up. “Well, funny story: I’m a singer.”

“A singer?? Like, in a band?”

“Kind of. I sing and do some stints on guitar, but I’ve been working with a really good Altean pianist for about a year. We have some originals but we mostly do old stuff from Earth and the Altean colony. We have a crazy plan of researching and recreating ancient Altean music...”

“You always had a nice shower voice,” he considers.

When he glances up at Curtis, he’s doing the little funny thing he always did with his mouth, looking surprised, a bit embarrassed and utterly adorable. Shiro looks away. “Anyway, that’s incredible. I’m proud of you!”

“Thank you.”

“So, ancient Altean music, eh? I should hook you up with Coran, then.”

The man lights up instantly at that. “For real? Would you do that?”

“Of course. You were both in my crew and I know you got along. No one thinks badly of you, and least of all Coran, believe me.”

“Oh,” he whispers. “That would be amazing... whenever you have time, of course... I’m sure you’ll be busy...”

“I will do it.”

“Thank you, Shiro… again,” he smiles.

All that is left of their meals now are a few scattered crumbs. They order and share another carafe of sparkling wine. When that is also consumed, they leave the bar together.

“Where are you staying?” Curtis asks.

“At the _Palatinus_, where else?”

“Right!” he laughs. “Let’s go, then, I’ll walk you there.”

They fall into step easily, chatting lightly. Shiro remembers their early days, when they would walk like this around the corridors of the Atlas, or the Garrison, trading ideas on this or that. In his chest there’s a phantom of the excitement he’d felt those days. It had been easy, too easy, to make Curtis his back then. Was it a mistake to accept that offering? Or was it just a natural result of their mutual affection?

They make vague plans to meet after the Summit, but nothing is set in stone, no contacts are exchanged. Curtis doesn’t refuse it outright, but there’s always something to distract them whenever Shiro thinks of bringing out his comm pad.

They reach the hotel’s entrance almost without realising it. Curtis stops to check the sign and turns to face Shiro.

“Here you are, safely delivered. Have a good rest and kick ass tomorrow, Councillor Shirogane!”

The last bit is delivered with a wink. They move towards one another without much thinking and their arms weave into a comfortable embrace. He’s always loved how Curtis seems to melt every time they hug. It feels so good it hurts. They stay like that for a moment. He notices as Curtis’ hand plays with his shirt for an instant and then stops, before he starts to pull away.

Shiro’s eyes take in the soft black bangs draped across the elegant forehead, the blue eyes that are a bit glazed and wider than usual, the thin lips that look so soft… and, against his best judgment, he goes for it. His hand feels the smooth skin of a cheek, his eyes close.

“Shiro, stop.” He is held firmly away, not able to press forward. He opens his eyes and sees confusion and hurt. “I wouldn’t normally object to wherever you're taking this... but this is you. You were the love of my life, my fairytale come true. I can’t do this with you. Sorry... and goodbye, Takashi.”

The words feel like a punch. Curtis turns on his heel and leaves. Shiro is left speechless, unable to move. He watches the tall figure disappear in the night. How could he hurt someone this bad? What kind of monster is he?

Someone asks “Sir, are you alright?” It breaks the spell long enough for him to move indoors and find his room. But late into the night, when sleep finally comes, it’s still those clear blue eyes, set against the Arusian sky, that watch over his troubled rest.


	2. Chapter 2

The days of the Summit are challenging. For as much as Shiro prepared for it during the months leading up to the event - extensive reading, debating, planning… - extradition is a sensitive topic, touching upon the very core of sovereignty, and few peoples are willing to give it away. Earth had a hard time dealing with that back in the days, and it was just _one_ planet.

So he does his best, meets with the remaining members of the Council, picks Kolivan’s brain, retreats to his room to think and rest, participates in all the official working lunches and dinners. The one time of the day he has for himself is his morning run. On the second or third day he’s approached by the organisation with an offer for personal security during those unsupervised outings, but he turns it down, reassuring them that he still has enough fight left in him to defend himself should trouble arise.

Everyday he takes the same route, starting at the hotel, cutting through downtown, then across the new city park and finally into the old Arusian town, where they first met the locals when the Castle of Lions was still berthed in the planet. On the way back, he detours along the coastline, passing by the bar where he met Curtis. He likes to stop there for a second, take a swig of water and think about that night.

_“You were the love of my life, my fairytale come true.”_

The words come back to him often during these morning runs. He searches the town for the familiar tall, dark figure, but he never spots him again. Rationally, he knows he should leave it alone, but his heart can’t stop itself from longing.

At the end of the week, the sessions come to a wrap. The proceedings were long and tortuous, but some progress was made and a follow-up summit is penned down, to take place in Daibazaal in six phoebs.

Off the program, there’s an unofficial dinner at Hunk’s restaurant that night. The man himself is in town and Shiro couldn’t be more excited. When they meet in the dining hall, they fall into a mutual bear hug.

“Old man! How are you buddy?”

“Hunk, I’m not that old!”

They both laugh. Coran and Romelle take their turns hugging Hunk, followed by Kolivan, who offers a more institutional greeting.

“Man, this is nostalgic! How’s Pidge? Has she stopped trying to geekify her nephews? Has anyone heard of Keith and Lance lately?”

“I was with Lance the other day. Keith checks in when he can. They’re both doing fine,” Shiro reports. “As for Pidge, I don’t know if that geekification can be stopped, even if she tries... The kids worship her...”

There’s a general chuckle at that.

“Well, then, let’s get you seated. I took the liberty of ordering Shiro-maki for everyone, in honour of Earth’s very brilliant representative, our man Shiro here...”

“Oh no...”

“Oh yes! Come on, you’re gonna love it!”

Shiro does himself a favour and doesn’t ask questions about the ingredients on the very multicoloured treat. Like anything created by Hunk, it tastes divine. But out of the two little homages that Hunk pays him, he is admittedly more excited by the sake bottle that arrives minutes later. He never had time to be an adult in Japan, but the familiar bottle and the smell of the rice wine remind him of evenings watching his father drink with his friends in their small living room, back home. He sips it in delight and goes along with the toasts proposed around the table.

The dinner ends with an Altean desert and a round of Arusian sweet wine. The guests break into smaller groups in which to chat away the pleasant evening. Shiro takes the opportunity to head to the balcony and breathe some fresh air. Hunk joins him minutes later. In a familiar way, the chef lays a hand on his right shoulder. He had his prosthetic replaced a few years back, so instead of the glowing shoulder cap, he now has a full limb, that looks and feels much more like the one he lost.

“Hey…”

“Hi Hunk…”

“You alright buddy?”

“Yeah, why?”

Hunk shrugs and leans his back against the railing. “Thought you were a bit spacey - excuse the pun…”

Shiro chuckles lightly. “Yeah, maybe. Just coming down from all the tension. Had my mind a bit full lately.”

“The…er… diplomatic stuff…?”

“Yeah, the diplomatic stuff, personal stuff…”

“Anything I can help with?”

“I don’t think so,” he sighs, maybe just a bit too melancholically, “Just stuff I need to work through.”

“Why do I get the feeling that this has nothing to do with chasing space criminals?”

That plucks another laugh out of him.

“Yeah, guess you’re right…”

“Come on Shiro - everyone is in there drinking and having a good time… talk to me, man. You know you don’t have to put on a front for us… and it’s just me here. I’m the friendly paladin… remember?”

“You’re not just friendly, Hunk, you are an incredible friend,” he says, meaning the words completely. “I guess it doesn’t hurt to let it out." He sighs. "I met Curtis, here on Arus, the other day…”

“Oh. I see. It must still be hard to bump into someone from your past like that…”

Sure, that’s what anyone would make of it, but for the many times he has now replayed that evening in his head, he can’t remember being upset for even a tick. It was more like an excitement, a warmth…

“No. It was _nice_ to see him, I just… I messed up…”

“What happened? Did you kick his dog or something? Boy, did that guy love animals...”

“I tried to kiss him.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Then he just up and left and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“C’mere man…”

Hunk throws his arms around Shiro and the influx of strength and warmth from the yellow paladin turned celebrity chef makes him sigh in relief. The knot in his stomach eases a little.

“I wish I could just see him again - say I’m sorry, tell him I didn’t want him to feel… cheap, or something… Because I really didn’t mean it that way…”

“How did you mean it?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. I wasn’t really thinking of bedding him or something. I wasn’t thinking of anything… I just…”

“Went with the flow?”

“I guess…”

“How long has it been since you’ve had someone?”

“A while, Hunk, a while…”

“I’m glad you didn’t keep that Galra guy. Man, he was weird…”

And with that Hunk makes him laugh again.

“He was… special, not in a bad way, but yeah, not for me I’m afraid.” He pauses for a moment. They’ve been talking about his issues for a while, but he didn’t think to return the attention. So he asks, “What about you Hunk, how’s married life treating you?”

“Same old, same old. I’m glad I found Shay. You know, it’s not all fun and games. We have our differences. Sometimes we argue, sometimes we mess up, but she’s still my partner, and I’m hers.”

“I’m glad. We all knew back at that Balmera that you two would end up married!”

“Oh, come on!You guys did not!”

And so their minds converge on shared memories and the previous conversation is put aside for now. Later, before they part ways, Hunk pulls him aside and tells him he will try to get intel on Curtis. Shiro thanks him but doesn’t dare to hope too much. The next day is the closing ceremony. The day after, they are set to leave - and God only knows when he will see those blue eyes again.

* * *

The event calls for full military regalia, so here he is - Atlas Captain all over again, beret and all. When he meets the other Earth delegates downstairs, some of them also done military attire, but the civilian members have chosen a mix of conventional and ethnic formal wear. Shiro finds himself fascinated by the striking colours of the headdress, blouse and skirt worn by his Senegalese colleague. She notices him looking and waves her fingers coquettishly. The other hand is holding a plate full of breakfast fare. He smiles and heads over. He might as well eat something in the morning for once.

After breakfast, they all get into the event shuttle and head to the Palace. The initial plan had been to build the Arusian ceremonial hall on the hill where the Castle of Lions once had rested, but Arusians were not fond of the idea. For ten thousand decaphoebs the site had been seen as mystic, belonging to the Gods. It was ill-fitted to occupy the place with a symbol or temporal power. And so the idea of a Peace Palace, to be built on the site of the first battle of Voltron against the robeast, came about. It now stands at the centre of a brand new city, designed by the best and brightest of the universe.

The steps going up to the ceremonial hall are already in a hustle bustle of delegates, stewards and security. The festival of colours and shapes is multiplied manifold. Shiro finds himself excited, with a slight risk of misty eyes. Belonging - being a part of something greater than oneself. Is it such a silly thing to desire?

The program starts with a family photo, followed by a pause for all participants to take their seats in the large hemicycle, lit by daylight from the glass dome overhead, constantly bathed by cooling water.

The opening speech is delivered by the Olkari leader, by inherence the president of the Coalition, which, from the early days, has had a rotative type of leadership, with equal opportunity for all members, big or small.

It is during the secretary general’s summary of proceedings, a while later, that Shiro’s phone starts vibrating like mad. He doesn’t want to look disinterested, so he keeps it in his pocket, largely ignored. He pulls it out during the next coffee break. His eyes widen at the sheer number of messages, all from the same group of senders: Lance, Keith, Pidge, Matt… Hunk. He gets it. The yellow paladin must have thought he was down and rallied all the troops to send him love. He's just kind like that.

He excuses himself to a quieter spot, partially camouflaged by two large potted trees, and starts opening the barrage of mail.

“Missing our favourite uncle” says Matt with a picture of his two brats hanging off the neck of a dinosaur at the park.

From Pidge he gets a compressed file named “top 50 bachelors of the Garrison and nearby” and he cringes at the several security breaches that must have involved…

Hunk says “working on it” and later “I’m onto something. Give me a tick”

Keith gives him a report of the mission he’s in, with details and pictures. In the end he says “I’ll be on Earth in a phoeb. Lets have a drink.”

Finally, he opens Lance’s message, the most recent of the set. It says “Now, if you still tell anyone that Mullet is your favourite I’ll swallow my socks.” Attached to a message is a picture file. He opens it and gasps. It’s a poster. The script is Arusian but his translator automatically converts it to English: “Kristellis and Kurtis - fusion jazz at the lake”. There’s also the name of a venue Shiro never heard of, and the date and time of the event: today at 9pm.

How Lance managed to dig this information is a mystery. He will ask him later. For now, there is only one certainty in his head: he will be there. He will not miss this chance to apologise and take the unbearable weight off his chest. Maybe once he does it, he’ll be able to understand his jumbled feelings.

The day proceeds with another speech, then a formal luncheon and, finally, the signing of the Conference Memorandum. After that, the delegates start to file out of the palace. He walks along with Coran. The Altean pats him in the back, bright and beaming in his Chancellor’s regalia.

“So, it seems we have a musical concert this evening. I look forward to it!”

“Wait… what?”

“Hunk told me about an Altean piano performance. I am most interested! Did you know that there are so few of these instruments around these days that they’re considered rarities? I am amazed that someone is still playing it.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yes, you must come, Shiro. I trust Hunk will pick you up. See you there!”

And so he is left alone again, Coran jogging youthfully towards the Altean group.

“Captain, why are you standing there? Our shuttle is waiting!” It’s the Senegalese minister from that morning, giving him a red-lipped smile and hooking an arm around his, to pull him along. The others catch up then and they all walk to the vehicle.

He has a concert tonight and he is going to see Curtis again. The realisation hits him when he’s back in his room, facing the large bathroom mirror. He looks tired. The black and white uniform looks heavy. Should he take a nap? What if he oversleeps? He can ask for a wake up call. He calls the reception and does that. Now, what is he going to wear? He rummages through his luggage for a while, half searching, half packing, half-heartedly. Perhaps it was a mistake, because when the phone starts ringing he realises he’s been sleeping on half his good shirts, all of which are now either crumpled or drooled on.

“Quiznak!”

At the same time there’s a knock on the door.

“Hey bud, you coming or not?”

Hunk.

“Give me ten!” He shouts at the voice on the other side.

He’s still hazy when he dashes to the shower and turns the water to cold. With the rush of wakefulness from the temperature drop, he manages to throw on a black button down and white slacks. When he opens the door, Hunk pulls him by the collar all the way to the car. And so they get going. He’s doing this. There’s no turning back.

* * *

The venue is a sort of _café-concert_ on the fringes of the old town. The area is surrounded by forest and the prevalence of Arusian architecture gives it a picturesque, magical ambience. Lanterns line the way leading to the house, an old Arusian pub. As it is too small to host a large audience, the stage has been set in a garden in the back, over a pond-like water feature, home to several kinds of pretty fishes, with accents of different colours glowing in the dark of dusk.In the paved area, tables have been distributed according to their size: from the smallest in the front, to the largest at the back.

Shiro and Hunk gather with the rest of their party by the door - Coran and Romelle, the Senegalese and Icelandic representatives, in much more lowkey casual wear this time, as well as one of Hunk’s local associates. Kolivan left right after the afternoon’s ceremony to attend to other duties.

Their seats are in the middle towards the back, given that their mix of origins makes them predominantly of medium stature. The house is already half full and, with the concert set to begin in less than 30 doboshes, they order some snacks and drinks and engage in casual chat.

It’s only then that Shiro takes a better look at the stage. It’s just a platform on stilts dipped in the water of the pond. A narrow walkway leads to another construction at the back - a sort of shelter, where, he imagines, the musicians prepare themselves before their performances. His heart rate spikes at that thought and his stomach contorts itself.

With the help of the gentle light of the moon, he tries to devise what the objects on stage are. On the left, there’s a large instrument shaped like a hand fan, with two rows of keys on its interior edge. It must be played from the floor, since there is no stool next to it and it rests quite low. By its side is an acoustic guitar from Earth. Shiro can’t remember, during their time of dating and later living together, if Curtis ever mentioned that he could play the guitar. What Shiro does remember well is the object next to it: a set of two small drums of different size and shape, united by a metal frame. It had rested on their coffee table for most of their cohabitation. Curtis had mentioned that the drums - tablas, he now recalls - had belonged to his father. Shiro had always assumed that they were merely decorative, and that thought brings home the fact that he never knew his husband at all.

By the time the lights are lowered, the house is mostly full. They have a mix of local and imported drinks in front of them and Shiro’s stomach is about to combust into fiery flutters.

Finally, the door to the small shelter opens and three people start walking on the pathway leading to the stage: a cool-looking Olkari, an Altean woman in an elegant blue gown, deep purple hair in a shiny long braid, and lastly, Curtis. He is wearing a white tunic with a square neckline and black tight pants. He walks barefoot, light as a gazelle.

On stage, the Olkari powers up a small sphere that starts hovering in the air, pulsating red light indicating that it’s on. The Altean sits on the floor facing the piano, Curtis sits cross legged next to it and pulls the tabla to the space in front of him. The garden goes silent. The show begins.

The first song is instrumental - an Altean piano and Indian tabla duet. It sounds upbeat and hopeful. The sound of the Altean piano is similar enough to that of an Earthen one, but more complex, with a metallic undertone and a trail of reverberance that feels like a flow of quintessence. When the keys are pressed, the corresponding hammers and strings light up in fluorescent paths on the translucent body of the instrument. It’s beautiful. There are smiles and nods from the audience.

“Exquisite,” he hears Coran say.

At the end of the song, Curtis stands up and announces-

“Kristellis Jin on piano.”

The audience gives them another round of applause.

“Thank you. We are Kristellis and Kurtis and we hope you have fun with us tonight.”

The voice Curtis uses on stage is a more seductive version of what Shiro remembers it to sound like - velvety and sweet with a slight bedroom husk. He tries to suppress _that_ particular imagery, but it doesn’t help that he has an abundance of mental references for it.

Notes of an old song start playing on the piano. In the absence of conventional microphones - the hovering olkari sphere is, most likely, capturing all the sounds - Curtis puts his hands in his pockets.

He sings-

“It’s a god awful small affair, for the girl with the mousy hair” - and looks back at Kristellis. She winks and he smiles, going back to the song that Shiro remembers vaguely as something very old, from in between WWII and WWIII. Curtis sings those ancient lyrics about life on a world long gone and fantasies of the unknown universe. Kristellis plays and offers some backing vocals. It’s perfectly harmonic. He is supremely jealous.

The set goes on for a few more songs in the same vein - old songs delivered in a dressed down, jazzy style.

After the third or fourth, Curtis takes a break to sip some water.

“These were some of my grandfather’s favourites,” he giggles, and the audience chuckles along, captivated. “The next song will be familiar to our Altean friends. Please excuse any mistakes.”

And so the piano lights up, the song starts and Shiro can only process the uproar going on in his table when he realises he doesn’t understand a word of the lyrics. He had turned off his translator before the show started. Curtis is singing in Altean.

At the end of the song there are people standing, Romelle is in tears and Coran is shouting “Way to go lads! Long live Altea!”

Kristellis stands up from the piano to receive the applause and take a deep bow. On stage, both artists hold hands and hug each other. Shiro can’t take this. He considers bolting out the door. He was such an idiot to think he still had any right to interfere with Curtis’ life. He has no stake in it anymore. He has thrown it away.

Seemingly reading his thought process, Hunk lays a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down buddy. It’s not over yet.”

As if on cue, Kristellis takes her place again and Curtis turns to address the audience.

“Thank you! And since this is the part where I embarrass myself, I’ll try my hand at another language I don’t really master...”

The singer and pianist lock eyes again. She gives him a small reassuring nod. He starts.

The words sound a bit odd in Curtis’ accent, but Shiro understands every single one of them. He knows this song from a time gone by - it was _his_ grandfather’s favourite, after all.

Even though Curtis’ voice is not as high as Toshi’s, his rendition is still heart-wrenching in its simplicity. Shiro is probably the only person in the room who can understand the meaning of those words of loss and devotion without a translator. The moment feels intimate, like there’s only the two of them in the precinct. But then the chorus comes in. Shiro had forgotten how Japanese bands used to have a knack for random English words thrown into their lyrics.

Curtis sings-

_“Forever love, forever dream”_

And suddenly all eyes are on Shiro. Hunk digs him in the ribs not so subtly.

“Still jealous?”

He doesn’t know. He is hit by a wave of different emotions. He holds back tears until the song is over and the notes of the next piece are heard.

The remaining of the concert is made up of originals. The tunes are more consistently jazzy, with piano and guitar complementing the gentle crooning of Curtis’ voice. The lyrics tell stories of travels, a myriad worlds Shiro knows in the grand scheme of things, but not in the form of all these small personal tales - some ordinary, some quite fantastic. Through them all runs an omnipresent current of loss and heartbreak, courage and hope. The performance leaves him mesmerised, long after the two artists have taken their bows and left the stage.

The night is pleasant and patrons start mingling around the tables. Recorded music keeps the ambience lively, drinks flow and conversations sprout. Without realising it, he’s been whisked into a larger group. People introduce themselves but he can’t bring himself to remember their names or properly interact. His eyes roam the space. Time drags itself.

“Hey,” a familiar voice says - finally! - and a hand rests on his waist. “Thanks for coming.”

“The show was fantastic. Congratulations!” He manages to mumble.

“Thank you. This is Kristellis. Kristellis, this is Shiro.”

He bows to the pretty Altean and offers his congratulations anew. Realising that the artists have joined them, the others flood in to compliment them. Coran scoops Curtis into a manly hug before introducing himself to Kristellis, clearly swooning. They go on talking about old Altean music and leave Curtis and Shiro by themselves. It’s a bit quieter now, but he still doesn’t think he can be upfront, with so many people around them.

“Curtis, can we talk?

The other frowns, looking away.

“I need to say something. It doesn’t have to take long… Just a few doboshes of your time…”

“Ok. Walk with me.”

They circle the pond and walk through another patch of garden. Lighting here is scarcer, with lanterns further apart.

“I guess the main thing I want to say is sorry... for the advances the other day. I should have asked first...”

“Should have asked first,” the man considers. “So you don’t regret it?”

Shiro is caught off guard by that, but he answers honestly, “No”.

“And what of it then?”

“I don’t know. At that time I wanted to do it. I still do...”

“Wanted to do what?” Curtis bristles.

“Kiss you. I wanted to kiss you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know! I just...” he raises his voice, then covers his mouth with his hands. Why is he such a mess when it comes to feelings?

“Look, it’s fine. We have a past. Sometimes these things happen. Don’t think too much about it. Go live your life... just take this as an encore... a flashback... whatever you want to call it...”

“Curtis, did you mean those words? The Japanese song... are your feelings unchanged?”

On impulse he grabs his ex’s hands and squeezes, perhaps a bit too hard, because there’s a wince, before Curtis’ expression turns dead serious. He looks away, at the floor, at their connected hands.

“Yes. I meant it.”

“And you’d do nothing about it? Even though that’s what you feel? What if I never came?”

“Then you would never know.”

Shiro sees the exact moment when one blue eye shines brighter and overflows, one single wet trail making its way down a serene face. Despite his apology and all he’s said, he can’t help it. He hopes against all hope that this won’t ruin everything again. He barrels forward and presses his lips to Curtis’.

’Shiro…”

“No! Call me Takashi. Make me yours again!” he all but screams.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“We won’t know if we don’t try!”

Curtis doesn’t answer. He lets himself play with Shiro’s shirt, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. He lays his forehead on Shiro’s shoulder and closes his eyes. It’s that melting feeling again, the one that has always made Shiro feel so high, so in control… but now it starts to feel like something different - like a sort of responsibility. It's as though the man in his arms could crumble to dust the moment he removes his support. It might have felt like a burden once, but this time, Shiro doesn't think twice. His arms close around the man's torso and squeeze him tight against his whole body. Curtis sighs and lifts his head again, seeks Shiro's eyes, then says-

“Ok.”

“Hmm?”

“Ok, we can try again.”

He can’t believe his ears. His face splits into a wide smile. Curtis smiles back. They kiss again.

“When do you leave?”

“In the morning,” he admits mournfully.

“So we have a few more hours. Then we can keep in touch by mail and phone. If _this_ somehow survives the distance, we can try to meet again.”

“You’re serious.”

“I always am.”

“I know,” he chuckles, “I’ve always loved that about you.”

Curtis softens again in his arms and they sway intertwined.

“Do you still want to talk to Coran about the Altean music thing?”

“I think Kris has it covered…”

“Are you needed here for anything, otherwise…?”

He pulls away, a playful smirk in his face. “Are you trying to abduct me, Councillor Shirogane?”

“Would you like to be abducted, _anata_?”

“Depends. Where do you plan to take me?”

“Hmm… how about… stargazing by the sea?”

“Stargazing, huh?”

“Hmm.”

“Sounds good.”

They hold hands as they walk back from the Arusian village to the coast. They settle on a deserted cove, lit only by the great Arusian moon. Curtis lays his jacket on the sand as a makeshift blanket and they lie side by side, fingers interlaced.

There are ten years worth of stories to be told, let alone catching up on their past - all the things they never shared. Shiro is fascinated by Curtis' travels, the stories behind the songs, all the freedom and the courage… Curtis listens eagerly to Shiro’s account of his path back to a meaningful life, on his own terms, that led him to a valuable role that he came to cherish. When they get tired, they just hold each other and enjoy the simple privilege of breathing the same air, within the same atmosphere, in the same corner of the universe.

After sunrise, they walk back to Shiro’s hotel. This time, they part with a long, languid kiss, and a promise of giving this - them - a try. It may still not work. They might conclude, after all, that their lives ought to remain separated. But Shiro has a new contact in his phone, and a vivid memory of this night together. He will hold on to this new future - not like some kind of consolation prize, but because he truly desires it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this little thing. It turned up pretty personal, so excuse the self-indulgence. Sometimes you just have to give characters the second chances you never had!  
You can imagine the songs in whatever way you like and ignore my references, but here are two of the covers that Kristellis and Kurtis sing in their recital:  
[Life on Mars (David Bowie)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_kPDJQBtHaY)  
[Forever Love (X Japan)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IVKCHgf2ur4)  
I imagine Altean piano + tabla as a sort of more elaborate version of [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KiasWoPQo0k)  
There will be a short epilogue after this. Stay tuned and feel free to leave me your thoughts.  
Cheers!


	3. Epilogue: Kristellis and Curtis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see endnotes for possible TW

_At first, she took him for an Altean. She’d heard of Earthlings going around the galaxies after the war ended, but she’d never come across one of them in her travels._

_It was the instrument that gave him away. Altean chordophones are much more elegant than the enormous thing he’d been strumming in the middle of a square in Drazan._

_She approached him and that’s when she saw the chordophone case split open on the floor and a few scattered coins inside it. A busker._

_He broke into a new song, strumming the instrument with intent, inhaling and letting his voice fill the space. It was a beautiful, soulful sound, so different from Altean bel canto, that was created to dazzle. No, this came from somewhere deep and raw. Utterly unsightly. _

_She was captivated._

* * *

It’s been a hectic week. After two years of research and rehearsals, the Altean music rehabilitation project, that Curtis and Kristellis have been working on, is finally coming to fruition.

It was the pianist’s power of persuasion that put the whole thing in motion. Two years ago, right after their concert on Arus, while Curtis was reconnecting with Takashi under the stars, the Altean very effectively sold the idea to Coran, and things grew from there.

Kristellis and Curtis moved to New Altea soon after that, and started their research in earnest. They spent hours reading old documents, trying to recreate a single tune, only for Coran to listen to their performance and tell them that it sounded strange, that the tempo was all wrong or that king Alfor would writhe in his tomb at the sound of it.

But they didn’t give up, and after a while, they managed to gather enough repertoire for a full length concert. Allura’s Day then appeared as a symbolic occasion for them to present the results of their work. With the date set, all that was left was to rehearse, to perfect their rendition of those sonic antiques, while a larger team worked on everything else. Scenic artists, lighting designers, sound engineers... it was a lively bunch, a melting pot of a team that filled their days with laughter.

Now though, as the date draws near, Curtis finds himself thinking more and more about the other meaning of the event: the end of his partnership with Kristellis and the beginning of a new life with Takashi.

Never in his wildest dreams did Curtis imagine that he’d sing for a living. It had always been a recreative thing. Once an older guy had told him he sounded like Chet Baker. It was a pick up line. Curtis slept with him anyway, but he didn’t quite believe it.

Since young, he’d always been a geek. He would grow interested in things and hoard knowledge about them, and then he'd grow interested in something else and the process would start anew. He was interested in music, in computing, maths, physics, space navigation...

Eventually, he found himself working for a private space tourism company, operating ground control for orbital tours. Then, one day,Sam Holt’s video came out. Despite the urgency of the call and the fact that he immediately knew that he was qualified to help, he considered ignoring it - he’d carry on as usual, making a good buck, living in a nice house, travelling, partying, fucking around, living the life… And yet, from that moment onwards, every day that he’d go to work to a glitzy facility that offered air-yoga-lates as an afternoon break and a lunch buffet with organic everything, he’d go back home feeling guilty, feeling that his skills were being wasted on something frivolous, when they were desperately needed elsewhere. He quit and joined the Garrison as a communications technician. The easy life was no more, but he was filled with a new unknown concept, that drove his every action: Purpose.

* * *

_“So, how many pitches does a musical scale have on Earth?”_

_“Depends. The major scale has seven pitches with two half steps. There are also minor, harmonic, melodic, pentatonic…”_

_“Ok, stop.” Kristellis’ brain was starting to buzz. “If we want to use my piano for your songs, what do we need to do?”_

_Curtis gave her a thoughtful look. They were en route between Drazan and Reiphod. The proceeds they’d made from Clear Day had only been enough for a shared economy cabin, with two narrow alcoves and a patch of carpet between them. That was where they currently sat cross legged, both leaning over the fan-shaped form of her portable piano._

_“We’ll have to find an approximation. Your scale is more complex, so we’ll need to dumb it down. Do you know any kids’ songs?”_

_“Ugh, yes?”_

_“Do it. Play me a nursery rhyme.”_

_He smiled wickedly and she punched his upper arm._

_“Very funny. Ok, here it goes.”_

* * *

“What’s he buying this time?”

Curtis jumps as Kristellis’ voice blows over his shoulder.

He's been scrolling through photos Takashi sent him, while seating at the edge of the stage - his thinking spot. He is in love with the view from up there: a long stretch of lawn, rising over a gentle hill, at the end of which Allura’s statue stands, with the New Castleship in the background.

“Beds and mattresses…” he answers, cheeks growing hot.

She plops down cross-legged next to him and takes an ostensive look at the photos on his phone.

“This one looks neat… and big… I mean, you two are both rather… _tall_…”

“Kris…” he whines.

She giggles. “I can’t believe we’re playing our last show together Curtie… ”

“Feels like yesterday, doesn’t it?”

“You seemed lonely and I was drunk,” she quips.

“You saved me…”

Kristellis brings an arm around him and he feels that maybe he should tell her the full story about that night.

“Aww you two are adorable…” They both look up to see Lance standing behind them.

“We can group-hug if you want, _Lancey_…”

The former paladin blushes instantly. Lance and Kristellis have been growing close since Lance joined them in the organisation of the Allura Day festivities. After the group hug that eventually happens, the pianist and the paladin head off together on the excuse of fetching someprops from the warehouse, and Curtis is left with only his phone for company.

He pulls the photos again - a few badly framed shots of bed frames, mattresses and pillows. He tries to be normal about it, to look at the practical details - the quality of materials, the firmness, the color and texture of the materials and how they will match with the wall paint and the inbuilt woods... - but it feels all but normal. They are picking furniture together - _again_.

Doing it summons visions of their clothes hanging side by side in the wardrobe, everyday items like books and tablets, tools and dumbbells lying haphazardly around the house where they were left after use, their shoes stacked by the genkan, rustled sheets where they slept entangled... visions of what they once have - what he once lost.

He wants nothing more than to be with Takashi again. Reconnecting over the last two years, living a long-distance relationship with someone you used to hold so close… it was rewarding in a certain level - their daily chats brought them closer, they learned many things they didn’t know about each other - but the constant longing was almost unbearable most of the time.

He looks away from his phone and lets the green landscape soothe his mind again.That’s when his pocket vibrates twice.

_Hey_

_Can I call?_

Over the past two years, he’s worked on recovering the trust that was once torn to pieces, but this kind of thing still sets off all his alarms. Takashi doesn’t give him time to type back a reply. The phone starts ringing with an incoming call.

“Hi,” he greets.

“Hey! Can we switch to video?”

It doesn’t help that Takashi has such a knack for suspense.

He holds the phone away from his ear and Takashi’s grinning face appears on the thin translucent screen.

“Are you ready?”

Takashi disappears and the image turns into a view of their future Tokyo house. The walls are still the same as he last saw them, painted in the coffee and turmeric tones they chose, and there’s not much in the way of furniture. He doesn’t want to disappoint Takashi but he really doesn’t know what the man is getting at...

“I’m sorry, but I really don’t see...”

“Just pulling your leg!” he pops into frame with a goofy face. “Here, let me show you-“

The camera tilts down and he finally sees it. He feels an unexpected joy bubbling in his stomach.

“Takashi, you got tatami! How?”

Back when they first moved in together, they had tried, without success, to find someone still selling tatami flooring, but it had proven impossible. Small industries around the world had been massively wiped out by the Galra invasion and business structures were severely disrupted. They had finally given up on the idea and left the floor as it was. But now Takashi has found it and the floor looks lovely with the green-yellow warmth of the mats.

“Well, you know, a little road trip to the countryside and captain Shirogane’s natural charm...”

“Do I even want to know that story...?”

“No damage was done and I even bought you a nice souvenir!”

“Oh?”

“Oh yes!” Takashi beams, but then his expression turns wistful, eyes warm and caring. It looks so good on him, Curtis thinks. “And I can’t wait to give it to you...”

“Yes,” he replies. “Me too.”

* * *

_The whole universe knew of Voltron and its paladins, the Atlas and its captain. Even years after the war ended, movies were still being made, memorabilia traded, heroic feats remembered. It was on a passage by Space Mall that Kristellis began to suspect that the Earthling - now her travelling busking partner - had some connection to the Earthlings that liberated the universe._

_They were walking back to the shuttle port after a performance when she saw Curtis stood outside a trinket shop, staring through the glass._

_“What’s up Curtie?”_

_“Nothing…”_

_“Wait a minute…” she squinted at the same point he’d been staring at. It was on the furthest wall, hard to focus on amid a forest of models, figurines and other similar trash. “Is that you?”_

_The poster was a shabby collage of a real photo of two men holding hands and a background of multiple colours shaped as shooting starts. “Be brave, be proud” was the caption._

_“No… yeah?” Curtis looked embarrassed on the surface, but it was the undercurrent of sadness that struck her. “It’s from my wedding… there was this charity… they asked if they could take a photo for their campaign… we were happy to let them…”_

_She knew it was cruel but she couldn’t help it. Overcome by some brand of morbid curiosity, she went into the shop and walked right up to the framed poster. Their names were written at the bottom, in small print: “Captain Takashi Shirogane, Commander Curtis Xavier - Earth’s defenders”. They were both in white suits and black bowties, smiling under the warm lights of sunset. Curtis looked younger, his hair was shorter, and his smile was the happiest she’d ever seen in him - so open and sincere and contagious._

_“This was the happiest day of my life,” the flesh and blood Curtis said beside her. His real-life smile paled in comparison with the printed version. Her palate went dry and pasty and her eyes prickled. It had never happened before - Kristellis had lived a life of hardship as an Altean descendant, hiding and deceiving to escape the claws of the empire - but at that moment, second-hand sorrow and a growing fondness betrayed her. She threw her arms around him and let her eyes wet his shirt._

* * *

“New Altea calling Curtie... ha-llo...”

Kristellis stands before him, half bent forward, brows furrowed and a hand waving bemusedly right in front of his face.

“Hey Kris...”

“Don’t hey Kris me! You’re spacing out again.”

“Sorry...”

These last few days have been like this - airy and elusive, with only the immediate task of setting up the show to ground him.

“What time?”

“What time what?”

“Don’t be dense! What time does your man arrive?”

“Oh,” he smiles softly, he’s been daydreaming about it all day. “In a varga...”

“And what are you doing here? Waiting to see the wormhole open and close? Go-to-the-space-port,” she deadpans.

“Don’t you need me here? If I go now I’ll be back just in time for the show...”

“Let me spell it out for you babe: it’s all set. You just need to put your lovely voice to work.”

“Guess you’re right,” he chuckles. “How do I look?”

“Smokin hot, as always. Now, go.”

Blushing, he jumps off stage and strolls down the hill towards the foot of the statue. There, he boards the small monorail shuttle to space port.

The transportation hub is built in distinctive Altean architecture - all fluid lines, glossy whites and electric blue accents. A large holographic panel at the centre of the dome informs passengers of the arrival and departure times of commercial shuttles. Private and military flights arrive and depart from a smaller terminal.

After crossing the main hall, Curtis takes a glass tunnel to another building. There, a facial scanner checks each entrant’s credentials. He stands under the lens and tries not to tap his foot too impatiently. It’s only a few seconds until the gates open and he is granted admission into the terminal proper.

It’s a utilitarian space - still tasteful, this is Altea after all - but less lofty than the public area. He approaches the window, just in time to witness the parting of the sky, the unmistakable shift in the atmosphere, and the gigantic dark gorge opening upon them. From the shadows swirling within it, something deeply familiar starts to pass through. His breath is caught in his lungs. It can’t be. She’s been grounded for so long… But he can hear the distant chant. It was never as intense for him as it was for Takashi, her captain, but he’d always heard it when she was near. And so he knew, before even the tip of her nose begins to cross the threshold of the wormhole, before the gigantic white hull casts its shadow on the planet - the Atlas is back in the skies.

“Pretty impressive for something built by humans... with Altean help, but still.”

“Romelle!”

The blonde Altean has been stationed in Daibazaal as a diplomatic envoy since after the war. He is pleased that she is already here. But she is not alone. Strolling behind her, still holding his helmet under his arm, is no less than Keith Kogane, leader of the Blade of Marmora - and Takashi’s closest friend.

“I hitched a ride with him,” Romelle supplies.

It has been a good handful of years since they’ve last crossed paths. Curtis is not sure how to approach the man. A long time ago, he’d harboured less than kind thoughts about him. But so much has changed.

“Brother,” the young man says, “it’s been a long time. How have you been?”

_Brother_ \- Keith has never addressed him that way. But he doesn’t have time to wonder about that, because Keith - in his full grown half-galra stature - proceeds to seize him in a half-embrace-half-chockehold kind of greeting that makes him feel slightly uncomfortable but impossibly warm.

“Thank you. All is well. How are you, Keith?” He finally manages to ask.

“Tired,” Keith replies, and then looks up. “I never thought I’d see her flying again.”

For a moment, the three of them are enraptured by the sight of the massive war ship making a perfectly smooth descent into the open hangar.

“Shall we head downstairs?” Romelle prompts.

“Yeah,” they both reply

They take the elevator and reach the underground level in time to witness the opening of the gates. And so the reason for flying the Atlas becomes apparent: the people that start pouring out of the ship are not GG crew or soldiers, but civilians, lots of them… anonymous citizens and others that Curtis recognises as artists, politicians, personalities from different quadrants of society… a big human delegation excitedly arriving for a massive pic-nic in space.

Amid the flurry of people, they finally see the captain, tall and regal in his trademark black and whites. He’s greeting some Altean dignitaries but as soon as he’s complied with protocol, he makes a beeline to where they are.

Months of separation, exchanged messages, video calls in the middle of the night, shared plans, longing - it all melts down when a pair of mismatched arms closes around him and warm lips claim his.

“_Anata_…” Takashi breathes into the kiss. “I missed you so much.Flying the Atlas felt so lonely without you…”

They pull back, hands cradling each other’s faces, rubbing hair, ears, skin, laugh lines. It scares him that he can still forget about everything else at the sight of this man, he can still love Takashi with the same abandon and devotion, and melt under the tiniest of his attentions.

He pulls Takashi into his arms again and spins him in the air, taking advantage of his taller stature. Both of them erupt in happy laughter.

“Ugh, knock it off, I’m getting a cavity from watching you two…”

He puts Takashi down and turns towards the familiar voice, to where Veronica is strolling in their direction.

“Ronnie! You came!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Now loose the appendage and give me a hug.”

“Should I be offended?”

Takashi reluctantly releases him, allowing Veronica to claim her embrace.

With everyone gathered up, he catches a ride in their shuttle. They stop him in front of Allura’s statue and Takashi kisses him again before letting him hop off.He sets off running uphill to make it in time for soundcheck. He realises when he reaches the top that he didn’t break a sweat.

* * *

The concert begins at sundown. When Kristellis and Curtis take the stage, daylight is dim and the audience almost shrouded in darkness. Curtis looks for Takashi and finds him sitting on the grass on a small elevation, surrounded by their friends.

Allura’s statue glows in the distance. Curtis knew the princess for a short, turbulent period. It was Takashi’s mourning of her loss that brought them closer, and most of what he knows of her deeds came from those nights of sober companionship. Tonight, though, he can’t help but thinking of another Altean princess who saved his life in a different way. This last show is also for her.

They start with their usual piano-tabla duet, one of their first original creations. The rendition of old Altean music begins after that intro. The choir joins them on stage and the lights shift into something more festive. The Alteans in the audience recognise some of the tunes. They were passed from mouth to mouth, survived the years and the exile. Some had only ever existed in writing - mute melodies waiting to be played. They talk of heroes, explorers, lovers left on shore. They sing the beauty of Altea and the communion of beings, progress and remembrance.

Every song is met with enthusiastic cheers. They play entranced and soon the time comes to announce their final piece. When they found it, it was but a few lines scribbled on one of King Alfor’s diaries, that had been stored in the Castle of Lions. When they played it for the first time, Coran swore that it was a lullaby that Melanor used to sing. The original composition had no name, so they called it “Ode to the Lion”.

And so their concert comes to an end. The audience cheers and they take their bows. People linger in the precinct even when they retreat to the dressing rooms to get changed, but they know that when they get out, they will party with their friends - old and new - well into the Altean night.

It’s bittersweet to think that tomorrow there will be no more Kritellis and Kurtis, that they will go their separate ways.

“You know Curtie,” Kristellis calls out, while carefully placing her piano inside its case, “maybe this is not how you’d wished to spend these last few years, but I really had a lot of fun…”

Their eyes meet in the wall mirror and he knows he has to tell her.

“Kris… about the day we met…”

She eyes him with interest. He can’t stop now.

“I didn’t intend to go anywhere after Drazan…”

“Huh? You were going to stay in that god-forsaken place? Why?”

“It's not that I was going to stay there either... Listen... Back then I was travelling without aim, as you know. I’d go anywhere, do all sorts of things... until I grew tired of being anything at all. Life had no meaning on my own. I could only witness but never share. I was growing lonely and the idea of disappearing in space was already in my head. So when I heard that Clear Day was about to happen, things fell into place. Once, a long time ago, I’d been happy there. A person I admired took notice of me and what I felt... it was a very fond memory...”

“Oh for the love of the ancients! Curtis Xavier, what are you trying to tell me?”

“I knew the shuttles that flew those routes quite well, I knew how to operate one if I needed to… so I made a plan… to wait until the flight was well into deep space and then, when the crew was busy, to open an airlock and jump. That’s it. No one would know where I was or where I went. I’d be forgotten and that would be almost like not having existed at all, don’t you think?”

Barely has he closed his mouth, her hand comes crashing down his cheek. He looks up, sheepish. She has tears in her eyes.

“Promise me, if anything goes wrong again, you will come to me. I don’t care if he’s a war hero or a saint. If he doesn’t treat you the way you deserve, I’ll… I’ll…”

She doesn’t finish her phrase, she buries her face in his shoulder and holds him tight.

* * *

The sun is high when they wake up. Takashi stirs and it dissipates the last tendrils of sleep still clinging to Curtis’ head. The window was left open overnight and the wind blows gently, bringing in a slight chill. Takashi pulls a thin cover closer to his neck, before yawning and opening his eyes.

“_Ohayo_, baby,” he whispers, voice still rough.

They roll onto their sides and scoot closer, relishing the feeling of skin on warm skin. They share a chaste kiss and nose rub that has them both giggling.

“Good morning, Takashi…”

It feels so good, to wake up like this. Takashi’s right hand threads through his black hair, lulling him again in a comforting slumber.

“Thanks for yesterday… I know you were not close with Allura, but what you did… it left us all speechless… it was a beautiful tribute. I am so proud…”

“Thanks. If it weren’t for her, we wouldn’t be here.”

Takashi hums in agreement. He lays his lips between Curtis’ eyebrows, then against a temple, then on the corner of the mouth, teasing and sweet. It takes them a long time, but they force themselves to climb out of bed and get ready. Today is a big day too.

The walk to Allura’s statue is a sunny dreamlike thing. At some point they go back to discussing bed frames and mattresses. Takashi gives him a more detailed account of his road trip through rural Japan in search of tatami. Curtis learns that Takashi also managed to source some drip chains and a bamboo fountain. He daydreams of their future home. Their hands never leave one another.

They are still climbing the hill when they catch sight of the table laid at the foot of the statue and the group gathered around it. By the looks of it, everyone has already arrived.

Greetings fly around and easy banter breaks out among the group of friends. After a while, Takashi starts to shepherd everybody to the table, and the catering service takes it as their cue to move in with the brunch fare. They keep holding hands under the table, while they work one-handed on the food.

For one reason or other, he’s never been to one of these gatherings, but he figures that there must be some kind of ritual to it, because no one is particularly surprised when Takashi stands up, taps his spoon on the rim of his glass and clears his throat. Everyone around the table quiets down, waiting for Takashi to speak.

“For many years now, this place has been one for reunion and remembrance”, he starts. “Our lives have been connected in significant ways and, through many hardships, we were allowed to be here again, remembering those that couldn’t make it.”

There’s a brief silence, shared by all.

“But to celebrate Allura is also to celebrate life itself and all its possibilities… So there's something I really need to say today, before all of you, before Allura..."

He stops, shifts in place, and looks Curtis right in the eyes.

“Curtis, our paths crossed at a difficult time. We were at war, the future of our planet, of the whole universe, depended on us. Then, finally, peace was restored, but we had been damaged almost beyond repair. I had been damaged beyond repair... When we grew closer and you told me you admired me, I couldn’t believe my luck! To me you were so beautiful and vibrant, so strong and kind… the whole package… I never told you, but you were also my fairytale come true. And yet, when I finally had my happy ever after, I threw it all away. I have no excuse for it. It was stupid and insensitive. I went looking for something that wasn’t there, a sense of fulfilment that I thought I lacked… So much time has passed, our lives went to so many different places... and all I can say is that I did find some of that fulfilment. I am now in a much better place than I was then. But now I know that it’s all thanks to you. Without the foundation of your love during those difficult years, I don’t think I’d be here today. I love you, Curtis. These last two years have made it clear to me that being with you is what makes me the happiest. I don’t ever want to leave your side again. I'm yours, now and forever...”

He stops to take a breath and wave some kind of signal behind him.

“Keith” he whispers. 

The young man stands and hands him a parcel, the size of a shoe box. Takashi takes it and offers it to Curtis.

“Here… your souvenir from Japan…”

Curtis’ hands shake like crazy while he’s trying to unwrap the thing. When all the delicate lawyers of gold-flecked paper are peeled he’s left with a wooden box. He opens the lid and inside there are two dolls. He’s never seen anything of the sort. The figures depict two old men with long white tresses and beard, dressed in samurai garb and holding bamboo rakes. One is fair, the other dark-skinned.

“These are called Takasago dolls… they represent the wish to grow old together…”

Laughter and tears strike him at the same time. “How? I mean… this looks like…”

“I showed your photo to the artisan, he made a special set just for us… Curtis, where I come from this is an engagement gift, but I… I’d like you to have it, no matter what your answer is... alright?”

He nods, but his brain is struggling to catch up. Takashi pulls the chair away, goes down on one knee.

“Curtis Xavier-Shirogane, will you marry me again?”

* * *

_All in all, Earth is not such a bad place. Humans are a quirky bunch, with all their different countries and customs and quarrels. They are currently in the place called Japan, which is where Curtie’s partner was born. _

_Kristellis had never witnessed what humans call a "proposal", but judging by the tears in everyone's eyes, the Atlas captain - Shiro - seemed to have nailed it. It took Curtie a while to stop sobbing and say yes, after which the Atlas captain - Shiro - up and kissed him obscenely in front of everyone. After that, Shiro had asked his half-galra friend to be his "best man" again, and Curtie had turned to Lancey's sister and asked her to be his "best lady". All that was good and jolly, until Curtie turned to Kristellis herself and asked her to be his "best lady" too. She had no idea what that was, but she said yes anyway._

_And that's how she got herself to her current situation: standing outside an old shrine, wearing some elaborate gowns that Earthlings call "kimonos", waiting for the "grooms". The half-galra boy is with them too, with every passing tick turning more and more into a tight ball of nerves._

_“Relax, Mullet. Shiro won’t kill you right away if you spill the sake… he'll wait until the end of the party.”_

_Veronica gives a choked laugh._

_“Shut up, Lance,” the boy says, flushed red._

_Their banter stops when a car rolls by and comes to a stop. A driver steps out and opens the door, letting out first the Atlas captain and then Curtie, both looking stunning in their dark matching "kimonos"._

_Kristellis was once no more than a space rat. Her only treasure was the foldable piano left by her father, that she lugged around the galaxies despite the bulky size and weight. Friends were hard to come by when you had to hide all the time. _

_Veronica taps her shoulder. The shrine boy has arrived with the large umbrella and the grooms start walking towards the courtyard where the ceremony will be held. They all follow them in, forming a little procession with the remaining guest walking behind them. Curtie turns back to acknowledge her presence with a wink. She smiles back, taking in his unbridled joy._

_Thanks to Veronica's ongoing commentary, Kristellis can understand what each step of the elaborate ritual means and what is going to happen next. When the traditional part of the ceremony is over, Veronica tells her it's time. Curtie looks curious, then surprised when a curtain is drawn and the Altean piano revealed. She says "this is my present to you" and infuses her_ _ sound with blessings of eternal love. _

_Even before Curtie told her about the tragedy she helped prevent, Kristellis always felt that the man was somehow incomplete - like an engine missing a piece. Here, right before her eyes, as the newly-re-weds stand up and start swaying in each other’s arms, that piece slides into place._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
I wrote this after diving in and trying some of the divorce fics in this tag. While it is, admittedly, a possible plot device to achieve a certain result, I just wanted to flesh out the devastating consequences of the failure of a major relationship. Also, I wanted them to have a second chance - a happy ending after the fallout.  
So here it is. Hope you liked it!
> 
> Note: the word "anata" in this context is supposed to mean "dear" or "darling". Although it is, according to what I could gather, mostly used in this sense by Japanese women to address their husbands, I like to think that Shiro wouldn't care about those conventions and he would use the word to address Curtis because it's the most intimate and affectionate that he can think of. 
> 
> TW: mentions of suicidal thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! Cheers :)


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